


Gamble

by orphan_account



Category: Free!
Genre: Casino AU, I can't believe pool table sex is already an existing tag, M/M, PWP, Pool Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shameless smut based on the Casino AU magazine scans from the January issue of Animage.</p><p>It involves a pool table and a tie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gamble

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't find any Casino AU porn, which made me sad, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.
> 
> It's 1:30 in the morning and this is completely unedited. I would say I'm sorry, but I'm really not.
> 
> In case you haven't seen the poster that inspired this AU yet, it's [here.](https://31.media.tumblr.com/33a13d636cef26eba7b2adf3644c9f89/tumblr_mxhdvfLtyu1s5vhboo1_1280.jpg)

Haru thinks Makoto probably had a bit to drink earlier today, maybe slipped to him by another overeager patron that he just didn’t quite have the heart to refuse. _It’s only polite,_ Makoto had explained once, smiling kindly, running his fingers over Haru’s cheek and trying to smooth away the deep cut of his frown. _For the customers,_ he’d said, and while Haru has to grudgingly admit that Makoto’s charming smile and even more charming habit of bending down low over the pool table is probably most of the reason why people even come to visit the casino in the first place, that doesn’t mean that Haru has to _like_ it.

No, Haru likes it better when Makoto looks at him from across the room, and even through the throng of tourists and gamblers and professional pool players he never fails to spot the bright green of Makoto’s gaze, focused on one thing and one thing only— _Haru_ , and the thought of that never fails to bring a shiver up his spine, threatening to break the poker face that Haru has become so famous for as he deals card with a practiced hand.

But Haru certainly isn’t maintaining a poker face _now_ , not after closing time when they’re supposed to have long returned home, instead of Makoto pinning Haru against the side of a pool table and scraping his teeth down the pale column of Haru’s exposed throat.

Haru’s leaning backwards, and the position would be mildly uncomfortable if not for Makoto’s steady hand supporting Haru’s lower back as he continues marking his way down Haru’s throat, alternating between sucking and biting, marking him with bruises for all the world to see, and Haru would be lying if he said he doesn’t enjoy this at all.

There’s just something thrilling about doing this where they might get caught, even if it is way past closing time and everyone from the magicians to the security guards have long since left the casino. It’s dark, empty, quiet, completely different from the bright and noisy cacophony that Haru has grown used to, and the silence that surrounds them only serves to amplify every sound, every breath, every muffled moan, and _that_ , in turn, only serves to make Haru tilt his head to expose more of his neck to Makoto, even if he knows the bruises will be visible over the collar of his uniform tomorrow, and there will be questions and knowing looks; but now, here, in the heat of the moment, Haru can’t quite bring himself to care.

Makoto finally moves his lips away from Haru’s neck to undo his tie and set it aside, placing it next to where Haru’s hands are gripping onto the edges of the table, before moving to work on the buttons of his shirt, smoothly unbuttoning each one to reveal his bare chest. Makoto moves in, fitting his lips against the expanse of Haru’s collarbone, and Haru thinks that maybe Makoto really _is_ more than just a little bit tipsy if he’s so unusually eager to taste every bit of Haru’s skin, but Haru can hardly even care, especially not when Makoto’s kissing his way down Haru’s stomach like that, and _god_ , he’s so hard right now he can barely stand.

Makoto probably knows this too, because after one final nip at the V of Haru’s hips he decides to drop to his knees, reaching for Haru’s belt and trying to undo it in a frenzy, but not quite able to get it off fully, so Haru swats his hands away and does it himself instead, discarding the belt to the floor and reaching to unzip the fly of his trousers, a movement which earns an abrupt bark of laughter from Makoto. Haru has half a mind to ask what’s so funny about the situation, but then Makoto completely robs Haru of any coherent thought by rolling down his pants and underwear to expose Haru’s erection to the cold night air, and all of Haru’s thoughts immediately make way for an overwhelming burning anticipation as Makoto hovers over it, letting his hot breath fan out of the sensitive skin while agonizingly depriving Haru of the contact he so desires.

“Makoto,” Haru hisses between gritted teeth, but Makoto just looks up at him from underneath his eyelashes and smiles lazily as if they’ve got all the time in the world, as if he’s pinning Haru to his bed on a Sunday afternoon instead of to a pool table in the middle of a deserted casino after work, and it’s _frustrating_ as hell, but Makoto has always been a bit of a tease because he knows that it gets Haru all riled up and good just the way he likes it.

So Haru takes this into his own hands and fists his hands in Makoto’s hair, tugging just a little bit—hard enough to urge Makoto on, but not hard enough to really hurt, and Makoto simply smiles indulgently before finally dipping his head and taking Haru’s length into his mouth.

It’s not the first time they’ve done this—hardly the first—but the pleasure that shoots up Haru’s spine is still enough to make him keen against Makoto’s hold around his waist. Haru raises a hand, pressing the back of it to his mouth to muffle the quiet little moans that he can’t stop from escaping from his throat, not when Makoto licks a stripe all the way from the base to the tip in a way that has Haru’s remaining hand scrabbling to hold onto the edges of the pool table he’s leaning against. Makoto dips his head, taking Haru in once more, starting a steady rhythm of licking and sucking, before he hollows his cheek and hums, and the simple action sends vibrations down the length of Haru’s cock and shooting straight up to his brain.

Haru manages to get out something that’s a combination of Makoto’s name and a swear before Makoto takes him deep, as deep as he can go, and Haru’s almost at his limit and he tells Makoto so. Makoto raises his eyes to look at Haru again, even though he’s still got his lips wrapped around Haru’s cock, and sometimes Haru swears that Makoto just does things like this on purpose.

Makoto acquiesces, though, and he releases Haru’s length with an obscene pop before standing up—shakily, Haru notes with some measure of satisfaction—grabbing Haru’s forgotten tie from the edge of the pool table as he goes.

“What are you going to do with that?” Haru asks, his voice still a little hoarse and breathless, but Makoto just gives him a little secretive smile in reply because they both know that Haru already knows what exactly Makoto’s planning to do with it.

“Give me your hands, Haru,” Makoto says, and it’s a request—always a request, never a command, not even at his most assertive moments, because he’s _Makoto_ and that’s one thing that will probably never change about him—and since Makoto asks so nicely, Haru complies, putting his hands together while Makoto takes them in his hands and binds Haru’s wrists together with the tie. He does quick work with the knot, tugging at it once to make sure it’s secure before stepping back, producing a tiny bottle of lube from his pocket— _that’s_ new, Haru notes, but he’s too hard to even care to ask, instead just watches with glazed eyes as Makoto squeezes a liberal amount over his fingers, rubbing them together to warm the gel, and Haru does his part by shifting himself onto the pool table so that he’s sitting on top of it instead of just leaning against it. The action takes a little more effort than really necessary because of his bound hands, but he gets there, and he sits with his legs spread wide, waiting.

With his free hand Makoto pulls Haru’s trousers down the rest of the way, and Haru helps by kicking it off when it reaches his ankles, and when his legs are finally free Makoto positions himself between them. He puts his free hand underneath Haru’s knee, lifting his hips upward, and then finally, _finally_ , he slips one finger inside of Haru, pushing in and out to loosen up the tight ring of muscles. Makoto watches Haru’s face all the while, looking out for the slightest sign of pain, but Haru refuses to show any of the discomfort on his face, instead keeping his expression completely relaxed— _the whole poker face thing comes in handy for more than just the job,_ Haru thinks to himself privately—and Makoto takes it as a sign to continue, adding another finger.

The difference is instantaneous, and as Makoto pushes in and scissors his fingers Haru can’t help but gasp, his breath hitching in his throat as Makoto’s skilled fingers probe deep inside him, loosening him up and slowly unraveling the perfect façade of composure that is Nanase Haruka. He adds another finger, pulling out and then thrusting back in, searching for that spot that never fails to leave Haru reeling beneath his fingertips, and when he finds it, he takes his time massaging it, watching as Haru’s façade of impassivity slowly crumples and collapses, watching Haru’s cheeks slowly fade to a deep shade of red, watching the clear blue of Haru’s eyes cloud over with a haze of lust, and it’s then that Makoto pulls his fingers out, tugging at Haru’s neglected erection before reaching for the bottle of lube again and slicking himself up.

It feels like ages before Makoto finally lifts Haru’s hips up and pushes himself in, and when he does the burn is faint and familiar—it doesn’t take long for Haru to adjust, and all it takes is one look for Makoto to know that Haru’s ready, because they’ve never really needed words to communicate anyway. Makoto pulls back and thrusts forward experimentally, and the pool table shakes a little under Haru’s back, but he pays it no heed. Haru’s hands are struggling against the constraints of the tie, itching to find something to hold onto, _aching_ to reach out, to touch—Makoto’s face, Makoto’s shoulders, Makoto’s back, but instead his hands hang uselessly in front of him, rendering him at the complete mercy of Makoto’s ministrations. All he can do is dig his fingernails into his palms when Makoto thrusts forward again, harder this time, and again, and again, and again, setting a steady pace that has the table shaking dangerously with the force of their movements while Haru wraps his legs around Makoto’s back, using the leverage he finds there to push himself forward to meet every single one of Makoto’s thrusts.

It burns, a fire curling low in his belly, a hot and heady sensation that has Haru’s breath stuttering in his throat and his mouth falling open in a silent plea for _more_ , a plea he doesn't have to say out loud because Makoto gives anyway, he gives and Haru takes; he takes what he gets—Makoto’s thrusts, the way he grips at Haru’s legs just a little too tightly, the way he murmurs Haru’s name under his breath over and over again like a prayer, how he surges forward and presses his mouth to the corner of Haru’s lips when Haru’s eyes snap open as the force of his climax rocks him to the core. Haru takes it all, lets the white-hot heat of pleasure steal his breath away for a moment as he comes, staining Makoto’s pristine shirt in the process, and because Makoto has given him so much he decides to give back just a bit in return, tightening the hold his legs have around Makoto’s middle as he leans forward to press his lips to Makoto’s ear, right above where his earring sits, and all it takes is a whisper—“ _Makoto_.”—before he watches Makoto fall apart, Haru’s name falling from his lips as he comes.


End file.
